“It’s honest work.”
“Honest work never pays big,” he said.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t come with the possibility of seven to ten, either.”
“You work a job like that, you’re doing time. It’s just another kind of time.”
I was getting tired of Gar Sawyer Philosophy 101. “What do you want from me?” I asked him again.
“Doc told you, didn’t he?” he grunted. “I want to say goodbye. And leave you something.”
“Leave me what?”
He shook his head again. “Not until your brother is here.”
“Jerzy? He’s coming here?”
“Yep.”
“When?”
The old man shrugged. “Could be any minute. Could be whenever.”
Figures. He’ll come in his own time, whatever that is. Jerzy is the old man all over again. Maybe worse. I’ve done bad things in my life. Probably do them again if the opportunity were right. Why the fuck not? Nothing comes to you in this life but what you take, at least in my experience.
But Jerzy? He’s just plain bad. Not even for the sake of being bad. He just is.
“I can’t wait around forever,” I told him.
“You came,” the old man rasped. “Which means you’ll stay.”
I wanted to say no, but I saw that small cross leaning against a cold marble urn, and I knew he was right.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It won’t be long. One way or the other, it won’t be long.”
NINE
Jerzy
The drive was taking longer than I thought it would, a little under four hours already. It should’ve been quicker but hey, just getting outta the city takes a while with all the traffic these days.
Once the cars thinned out I got on it a little. This black Charger is kickass. A week ago, I picked it right off the damn showroom floor at Johnny Kaznicki’s dealership on Roosevelt Road. Johnny boy kinda owed me a couple a favors so the price had been very reasonable. Fucking thing really runs. I mean any car the cops pick for chase cars can’t be all bad, right?
So, I screamed west on 90, past that godforsaken town of Rockford and then straight as a damn arrow north into Cheesehead country. I go flying by bum-fuck Beloit and then through another bustling metropolis, Janesville.
I got too much down time here and don’t want to really think about where I’m going and why. My mind is on nothing and everything. So I settle on Wisconsin. To me, there’s never been nothin’ worth a damn in Wisconsin. Except the food. Rich, thick, heavy shit. Noodles and sausage. And then some more sausage. The women up here can have that blonde thing going on and everything, even cute sometimes, but they’re too damn sturdy. You worry about one getting pissed off and maybe kicking your ass.
So, here’s another problem with Wisconsin, I mean besides it being full of assholes. I could give a shit about the leaves turning colors in Door County and the pretty scenery. Or skiing, or fishing, or camping. Wears my ass out just thinking about it.
I don’t like a lot of things in this world though and I s’pose Wisconsin is just part of a very, very long list. The people list is even longer.
Yet another patch of nothing for miles, then Madison comes and goes. I’m getting close now because the bridge over the Wisconsin River is coming up, three miles ahead. Portage, next four exits, the sign says. Four big exits. Jesus. Oh, and there’s the sign for sparkling Silver Lake. Don’t forget Mud Lake either. Mud Lake. Hey, I’m not bullshittin’ here, it’s on the map.
I light another Marlboro and take a nip out of my silver flask. Not much, though. I can’t afford to go stumbling ass in there all fucked up. Just a little to even me out, is all.
I got things to do after this. Serious things. I had a talk with Patrik on the way up here. We spoke real vague-like and sorta pidgin English because Patrik just never knows who’s listenin’ to him these days. He’s a big fish now and the Feds are all eyes and ears.
I was in all the way, though, and he knew it, that was the main thing. I’m going back to see him at Ambrozy’s tomorrow night. The sacrifice boy is already in town and everybody knows it. The good guys, and the bad guys. I wonder if the dumbass is even worried, or if he’s too busy enjoying all the celebrity and attention.
Anyway, enough of that shit for now. It is family reunion time. Dad, Mick and Mom. My plan is to get in and get the hell out. Quickly. Bing, bang, boom.
I follow the signs and pull off the main road onto a long winding lane. I can see it on a small rise. Columbia Correctional Institution. It wasn’t one of the old classic prisons built out of huge concrete chunks and slabs, with walls about twenty feet high. The ones that look like some sort of old castle.
No, Colombia is one of those flat, ugly fuckers with slits for windows and plain dull red brick. Two parallel rows of high fences and concertina wire everywhere. Towers in the corners and the guards in them are very visible. The place has- no style, no character.
But it has some creds though. It was a max prison, after all, and some bad fuckers are in there. I guess they all do but Columbia had a little history of notoriety. Jeffrey Dahmer, the faggot cannibal, had been housed here, for one. Well, for an hour or two, anyway. That particular crazy fuck only lasted about a year before another inmate caved his head in with a pipe.
I had left my gun at home so when I check-in through the sally port, I’m clean as a whistle. It takes forever but I’m used to this bullshit so I just let the dumb shit guards do their thing.
“You say that Dr. Bradford has expedited a special pass to see Garnett Sawyer, inmate 459024, on a medical emergency visitation?” The guard frowns and raises his eyebrows. He was young and efficient, buttoned down. Most likely smarter than the average screw. He was also as green as the grass at Wrigley Field.
I lean in closer and look through the thick wire mesh at him. I squinted at his name plate.
“Officer Hammel? Or wait, Hammet? Sorry, I’m blind as a bat these days.”
“Neither. It’s Officer Hammer. HammER.”
“Right, right, sorry about that. So, Officer Hammet, my dad is over in the infirmary and he’s dying. I really need to see him as fast as I can. I’ll call the doctor real quick and let you talk to him. He’s said to do that if there was a delay or problems came up. He said the warden would put me through right away.” I smile at him just polite as hell and start to punch in Johnny Kaznicki’s number at the car lot, just for show.
“I’m just the sally port officer Mr. Sawyer. You’re good to go here, but you still have to pass through the registration process.” He gives me back my driver’s license, which was suspended, and had me sign the docket. Then he points me down a long ass hallway. “Registration area is down there to your right. Follow the signs.”
He goes back to his computer screen quickly, with way too much concentration. Like he’s about ready to land the space shuttle or something. Fuckhead.
“Oh, okay. Thanks, Officer Hummer.” I wave and nod to him and start down the hall. “Appreciate it.”
“Dad?”
He’s laying flat on his back with only a thin greasy pillow under his head. The sheet is pulled up to his shoulders. His eyes are half opened and heavy lidded. Nothing. He doesn’t move or speak. Goddamn it, he looks like shit. He’s shrunk down to nothin’. His skin has no color. For a second, I think I’m too late.
I stand right where I am and don’t move. Jesus, Dad, the game really is over isn’t it? My eyes start swimming a little, not much and I push that shit to the side real quick. Not gonna be any sniffling going on here.
I snap a quick look at the male nurse. “You gonna help me out here, sport, or just watch this? What the fuck do I do here?”
The idiot just looks at me and blinks.
“Am I too late, or is he okay?” I ask him.
“No, he’s not okay. He just had another visitor and he’s fading pretty fast now. Inmate Sawyer is just wore out. Anything he does at all, takes effort. He is heavily medicated but I think he’s conscious. So are you too late? No, but he’s also not okay.”